


Smooth Criminal

by starsonfire



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Criminal Clarke, Drabble, F/M, History Nerd Bellamy, Humor, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4163742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsonfire/pseuds/starsonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which thief Clarke breaks into history nerd Bellamy's house, and what she finds there leaves her unable to finish the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smooth Criminal

Clarke pulled the ski mask down over her face as she quietly crept toward the house she'd been watching for the past few days. From what she could tell, the man who owned it lived there alone and was generally rather unaware of his surroundings. Just yesterday she'd seen him nearly get hit by a car because for some wild reason he'd decided to read all of his mail standing in the road instead of taking it inside first. She nearly snorted at the memory before recalling at the last second that she was supposed to be in stealth mode.  _Right. On with it then._ _  
_

She felt for the lock pick in her pocket as she sneaked through the front bushes to his door. Quietly, she slipped the tool into the keyhole and gave it a twist. 

The door swung right open. She rolled her eyes at this guy's naïveté. Not even a padlock or a security system.  _This one should be an easy job._ She silently stepped through the entryway and cast a quick glance around her, thankful that the moron that lived here had left a small table lamp on. Her gaze immediately rested on the expensive-looking laptop that rested on the stained coffee table.  _Bingo._ She tiptoed into the room and reached for the computer. As she put her foot forward right by the coffee table, the hardwood floor gave a deafening creak. 

* * *

Bellamy's eyes snapped open. He'd fallen asleep with a book on his chest, the lamp on his bedside table still on. His ears seemed to prickle as he lay completely still, listening for any other sound in the house. 

The floor creaked again, and his heart lurched. Silently setting his book aside and quickly slipping out of bed, he glanced around for something to arm himself with. He silently cursed himself for not keeping a baseball bat under the bed. Clenching his fists, he almost didn't notice the soft light catching on the wall.

_His sword._  

His sister had given it to him for his 21st birthday a few years ago. He'd always wanted a King Solomon sword replica since he'd seen one in a specialty knife shop when he was eight; when Octavia had blindfolded him and led him back to his own bedroom, only to reveal the sword mounted on his wall, he'd talked to her about it until she ordered him to shut up and smacked him on her way out. It'd been his pride and joy ever since.

Taking a deep breath, he lifted it from the display hook on his wall. He had no idea how to use it, but it was his only option at the moment. Grasping it with both hands and brandishing it out in front of him, he headed into his living room.

* * *

 

A stream of curses flooded Clarke's head as the floor creaked for a second time. She snatched the laptop and glanced hurriedly around the room for anything else of value. A shuffling noise hit her hypersensitive ears, and she clutched the laptop closer to her, preparing to run. She'd nearly been caught a few times before, and she wasn't about to let this be the first time. Her hand drifted to the stun gun strapped to her belt.

What she wasn't prepared for was the sight of the boy that appeared on the other side of the room.

The guy was standing in his boxers and a t-shirt, thick tube socks bunched around his ankles, his messy hair standing up at odd angles at the back of his head from sleep, a steely look on his freckled face. Most importantly, though, he was brandishing a shiny, intricately made sword in her direction.

_A sword._

Clarke's hand fell from the stun gun at her hip as she bent over, unable to contain her laughter.

Bellamy's eyes narrowed as peals of laughter ripped from her chest. 

"Really?" she managed to choke out between laughs, one arm clutching a stitch in her side. "You're actually" - more laughter - "going to fight me" - a string of giggles - "with a  _sword_?" She fell down onto the couch, gasping incoherently. 

"I fail to see the humor in this situation here," Bellamy finally said indignantly, clenching his jaw. "Now why don't you just cough up whatever it is you've taken, and I might let you go unharmed." 

Clarke snorted and immediately covered her mouth as her laughter only intensified. Seeing no immediate threat or solution in the situation, Bellamy slowly lowered his sword to his side, silently fuming as he waited for the thief to regain some self-control.

Her laughter finally slowed, and a mirthful sigh escaped her lips as she leaned back into the couch, her mission forgotten. 

"Do you mean to tell me that you seriously intended to stop a burglary with a fucking King Solomon sword replica?" A small chuckle escaped her lips. "Just when I thought I'd  _finally_ seen it all." she shook her head slowly to herself. 

A spark of interest flickered in Bellamy's eyes when she correctly identified the weapon in his hand. Biting his lip, he remembered himself, knowing that he needed to get this thief out of his house as quickly as possible. 

"So are you gonna call the cops on me, or what?" Clarke lifted an eyebrow behind her ski mask that Bellamy couldn't see.

Bellamy's eyes fell to the sword in his hand, then to the laptop she had dropped back onto his couch. "Are you still planning on stealing my laptop?"

Clarke tilted her head, slapping a hand over one of her knees. "You know what? I guess not. This mission was a bust if I've ever seen one. So, I guess if you let me go, I won't take this. Or hurt you. Probably." 

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her, and he cautiously walked toward the couch. His eyes stayed on her the whole time as he quickly snatched up his laptop. Seeing no threat in her body language, he plopped down onto the couch as well, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible. 

"So where'd you get it?"

"It was a birthday present?" Bellamy answered, his tone guarded, inquisitive as to why this thief was trying to make small talk. 

"Nice. Ever since I was little I wanted a sword of Aragorn, but my family could never really afford it, so I just pretended." 

"Oh, so is that why you grew up to be a thief?"

Clarke was silent. Bellamy realized that he was being rude, and immediately regretted what he said.  _Wait, she's the one who broke in to my house in the dead of night._ Mentally shaking himself, he pushed away his guilt and tried to be mad again.

He noticed Clarke reading the spines of the textbooks splayed across his coffee table. "History student, huh? I should've guessed." 

"Graduate assistant, actually. I'm working toward a PhD." Bellamy wasn't sure why he was offering up this information, but he was alarmed at the level of comfort he'd already reached. 

"What's your concentration going to be? Medieval Europe? The Crusades? Something nice and violent?" She eyed his sword again.

"Holy Roman Empire, actually." 

"Not bad. I was always more of an Elizabethan England person myself. Shakespeare is a badass." 

"Did you know Tolkien actually hated Shakespeare?" Bellamy asked, grinning faintly.

"Seriously? That just ruined my day." Clarke slumped further back against the cushion. 

You completely botch a burglary and  _that's_ what ruined your day?" Bellamy shook his head, still grinning. 

"Hey, what's your name, anyway?" Clarke asked suddenly, turning her still-masked face toward him. 

"Bellamy." 

"Like the crazy journalist?" 

"Like the river."

"Oh. I'm Clarke, by the way." She held out a gloved hand. He lifted an eyebrow, but took it and gently shook it a few times nevertheless.

"I would say it's nice to meet you, but..." Bellamy shrugged.

"I guess I can understand that. I'm seriously not going to take anything, though. It's no use." 

"You seriously think I can trust the word of a stranger  _and_ a thief?"

Clarke blew out a puff of air. "Suit yourself." Just then, her stomach gave a massive growl. She glanced down. "Shhh," she whispered, a finger over her lips.

Bellamy noticed suddenly how thin her legs were, how her ribs poked through her worn black shirt. "Well, since you've woken me up, I might as well eat something. You want anything?" Bellamy scowled internally at himself for offering a criminal his food, but didn't take back the offer.

"I mean, I wouldn't be totally upset if you fixed me a sandwich or something," she replied, picking at her hem. 

Bellamy shook his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He walked over to the kitchen and pulled out a loaf of bread from the cupboard. As he made some sandwiches, Clarke toed off her beat-up boots and tucked her sock feet under her, settling more comfortably into the couch. She watched him the entire time, but Bellamy didn't feel uneasy anymore. She watched him with eyes more similar to a child's, not a criminal's. 

"Bon appétit," he said almost cheerfully, holding out a full paper plate and a mug of hot tea. 

"You're amazing," Clarke said, taking them from him as her stomach growled again. Bellamy felt heat rise to his cheeks at her comment, and quickly turned away from her as he settled back onto his end of the couch. Grumbling, Clarke fingered the edge of her ski mask.

"You know what? Screw it, I'm too hungry to care." She ripped off her gloves, then tugged the ski mask over her head. A shock of wavy blonde hair fell forward, and Bellamy swallowed thickly as he took in her features. Full lips, a button nose, stormy gray eyes that he bet looked different depending on what color she wore. Her face was a little thin, but he didn't think it was so thin that it drastically altered her appearance.

She was beautiful.

"God, I haven't eaten since yesterday morning," she said through a mouthful of sandwich, her eyes shutting briefly with bliss. 

Bellamy's look of surprise was question enough. 

Clarke looked away from him. "I actually live off of the money I make from what I steal," she said quietly but matter-of-factly. 

"Then where do you live then, if you don't mind me asking?" Bellamy's sandwich lay forgotten on the coffee table.

"Nowhere in particular," she shrugged, her voice not unhappy. "I prefer to think of myself as a modern nomad. It's more fun that way."

_More fun than thinking of yourself as homeless,_ Bellamy heard unspoken in her voice. He frowned.

"You know, I'm not as hungry as I thought. You want this?" He pushed his plate toward her.

"You don't have to ask me twice." She grabbed his sandwich and plopped it onto her already-empty plate. "Thanks for feeding me, by the way. You must be some kind of pushover for feeding the chick that broke into your house."

Bellamy grunted. "Don't push it, Clarke." He liked the way her name felt in his mouth.

"Just telling it like it is,  _Bellamy_." She liked the way his name rolled off her tongue. 

Popping the last bite of food into her mouth and dusting off her hands, she twisted around on the couch, stretching out and crossing her ankles on top of his lap. 

He didn't push them off. 

* * *

 

They'd been talking about Octavia when Bellamy asked her a question and she didn't answer. 

"Clarke?" he glanced her way. Her head lolled against the arm of the couch, her breathing sporadic. Though she should've been exhausted, she seemed to sleep fitfully. 

Bellamy knew he was being an idiot and that he should have kicked her out of the house hours ago. That being said, no instinctive part of him told him to kick her out or that she was going to screw him over. 

And if he was being honest with himself, he didn't want her to leave.

He noticed her shiver slightly, and his mind was made up. He slowly shifted her feet off of his lap as he stood up and bent down to pick her up from the couch. She was much lighter than she should have been, but she didn't stir as he cradled her against his chest and walked back to his bedroom. He placed her gently down on the bed and tugged the covers over her slight form, dragging out an extra quilt from the closet just in case. He started to walk out to the living room, knowing he should sleep on the couch, but the night was cold, and for practical purposes, he told himself he should stay in the same room as the criminal during the night. So yawning, he climbed in next to Clarke, turning his back to her, trying to forget she was there in hopes of actually catching some sleep.

* * *

 Bellamy woke to Clarke tossing and turning. She was yanking all of the covers off of his side, and was muttering incoherently in her sleep. He flipped over impatiently, meaning to grab a few blankets back for himself. Her face didn't relax in sleep; it twitched as if she was having a bad dream. She rolled over unconsciously so that her body faced him, and her arm swung out from her body. Her hand landed on his forearm, and she clutched it, her eyes still closed. Tension seemed to leave her body as her fingers curled over the warm skin of his arm. Bellamy's heart rose to his throat. Slowly, he shifted toward her, wrapping an arm around her small shoulders and pulling himself closer to her. His warm touch seemed to loosen a knot within her, and she relaxed into him, her body rolling so that her chest was flush against his. Her cool cheek rested against his shoulder, and her breaths fanned against his skin slowly and evenly.

The bad dream seemed to have ended. 

* * *

 

Bellamy awoke to sunlight streaming through his window and slanting over him relentlessly. He opened one eye groggily and saw that Clarke was sitting up in bed, halfway through the book he'd fallen asleep with before she'd decided to break in.

"So what's for breakfast?" she asked, not looking away from the page.

Bellamy grinned. 

 

 


End file.
